A Toast to Tex-Wis

In 1982 three friends trusted their instincts and put together The Texas-Wisconsin Border Café, a quirky Fan District watering hole known affectionately as "The Border." Owners Jim Bradford, Donna Van Winkle and Joe Seipel were rewarded with an immediate following and in its 17 years, The Border evolved into a bar known near and far for its wacky interior and its diverse crowd.

When word got out in early March that The Border had been sold and would be changing hands soon, its Baby Boomer customers and ex-staffers began making pilgrimages to the place for one last drink, one last connection to a piece of their youth.

The Border was the last of a certain breed of long-gone Fan District saloons that occasionally featured live music as a part of their fare: The Back Door, J. W. Rayles, and The Jade Elephant among them. When one considers that none of the aforementioned establishments lasted even 10 years, The Border's 17 years seems all the more praiseworthy.

It had been rumored that The Border was for sale for years, but what isn't these days? When Bradford, a painter and VCU professor, died in the summer of 1997, the future of the place became much more complicated. Of the three, Bradford was the one who probably spent the most time bellied up to the bar. Or, if you prefer, "overseeing operations." I doubt anyone (owner, staff, or patron) enjoyed The Border's ability to provide sanctuary from the sometimes daunting reality of the '90s more than Bradford.

After managing the restaurant in it's early years, Van Winkle has gone to law school, become an attorney, and moved to Fredericksburg. Fifty miles is a tough commute for a quick beer.

That left Seipel, chairman of VCU's sculpture department, to hold down the happy hour fort in the section of the restaurant known as the Power Corner. Although Seipel's talent for convivial conversation is considerable, he too has taken on time-consuming responsibilities over the years. Fatherhood not the least of them.

So with the graying of the original customer base for The Border becoming more of a factor on the bottom line, it was time to turn the page.

The last call scene at The Border was a remarkable event. On March 14, the last night of the original owners' stewardship, a bagpiper played "Amazing Grace" to close The Border down. It reminded me of something filmmaker Luis Bunuel wrote about a good bar being like a chapel. I expect most who were on hand for the piper's last mournful note took with them a strong sense of that sentiment.

But then there was a second coming. The new owners (Johnny Giavos, et al.) decided to honor a date old management had made with Burnt Taters for a March 26 CD release party. The decision to stay open under the old flag had the effect of putting off the new regime's renovations a few days. The sacrifice only speaks well for the new owners and probably bodes well for the nervous cadre of concerned Power Corner regulars.

Then came last Saturday's auction on the last night of operation as The Texas-Wisconsin Border Café. At six o'clock Page Wilson and Reckless Abandon's musical stylings gave way to the selling off of most of the bar's dusty collection of accouterments. They pulled down the framed pictures, the stuffed animal heads (and sometimes other parts), the signs, the fine art -- you name it.

What went on that night was part wake, part decadent debacle, part celebration, part yuppie one-upmanship, and all party.

For those who did much of the bidding, there must have been a big-time post-auction hangover when they looked at their checkbook the next day. The bidding at times resembled a feeding frenzy, as people climbed over one another to throw hundreds of dollars at stuff, some of which wouldn't go for five bucks at a yard sale. But since the money raised (more than $10,000) all goes to the Bradford Scholarship Fund at VCU, where was the harm in any of it? The auction was a unique night in Richmond's pop culture history. And the proud owners of The Border's back bar folderol have their souvenirs of what really was a unique bar in an age of conformity.

The Border, as it was, will be missed. It won't happen again.

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E-mail the author F. T. Rea

A Toast to Tex-Wis

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